


An Ordered Account

by elizabethelizabeth



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ancient History, Canon Compliant, Epistolary, Mesopotamia, Multi, Traipsing through history
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:41:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23020372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizabethelizabeth/pseuds/elizabethelizabeth
Summary: There is a library in Nineveh that an angelmustvisit. There is a demon in Nineveh thatmustfollow an angel. There is a series of journal entries that follow.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 23





	An Ordered Account

**Author's Note:**

> Of all of the "Aziraphale and Crowley throughout history" fics I've wanted to write, this is one stubborn plot bunny that's refused to go away. It's also one that has completely false beginnings. When I started writing this, I was _absolutely certain_ there was a quote in the novel about Crowley not necessarily being as into reading as Aziraphale was. Apparently, that was some odd Mandela Effect universe, because no such quote exists. I created a whole "Crowley writes journal entries but doesn't read books" universe based on a fake-ass quote that I made up in my mind. :shrug emoji: 
> 
> That being said, welcome to my first multi-chaptered endeavor for this fandom. Ya girl is nervous. Let's do this, shall we?

_ “The habit of writing for my eye is good practice. It loosens the ligaments.”  _ _   
_ _ Virginia Woolf _

_ “Why, then, do I set before You an ordered account of so many things? it's certainly not through me that You know them. But I'm stirring up love for You in myself.” _ _   
_ _ Augustine of Hippo _

**811 BC** **  
** **Assyria**

“Repent, Ninevites! You have forty days until your city will be overthrown! Save your city! Save Nineveh! Repent!”

“That’s a little overkill, innit?”

Aziraphale didn’t jump even a little at Crawley’s voice, which was annoying. He and the angel hadn’t seen each other in a couple years (and by a couple years he meant a little over a thousand, but what was time, really, when it didn’t expire for occult beings?) and he was looking forward to surprising Aziraphale by appearing at his left shoulder, a witty comment at the ready.

Instead, Aziraphale merely looked at Crawley in his periphery. No remarks on his attire, which was extra vexing, because Crawley thought he looked quite good that day; black wool tunic, cinched at the waist, hair and face covered in red linen. No one looked into a woman’s eyes around here, much easier to hide this way. “I’m inclined to agree, my dear,” was what Aziraphale said instead.

“Not one of yours, then?”

“Jonah?” The angel and the demon were the only ones looking at the aforementioned man, sunburned and manic. He’d been walking the city streets for days, repeating the same warning about Nineveh’s end times. “No, he’s definitely one of ours.”

Crawley looked back at Jonah, and then at the crowd moving around them. There were few that paid heed to Jonah’s ramblings, most of them only stopped to see what the commotion was and then promptly move on. 

“Are you…” Crawley made a vague gesture between Aziraphale and Jonah. “Are you supposed to help him?”

Aziraphale sighed. “What makes you think I’d tell  _ you _ ? You’re probably here to thwart what I’ve been sent here to do.” With primly clasped hands, Azirphale glared at Crawley, looking as if he were willing the demon to argue with him.

That  _ was  _ Crawley’s first demonic inclination; nothing felt as satisfying as making the angel unrighteously affronted. His second, and more intense, inclination was to grin teasingly. “It’d make my job a lot easier if you did tell me.” The crowd thinned even more as they talked. Aziraphale moved into the shade of a nearby alley, still in view of Jonah. Crawley had no choice but to follow. “Nah, I’m not here for Jonah. Honest. ‘M here to make sure a demonic goat sacrifice goes according to plan. Well, officially, anyway. I think I’ll switch things up and make sure the goats in question escape to live a fulfilling life in the Mountains of Ashur. Would cause a lot more discontent that way, anyway.”

Aziraphale looked torn between laughter and shock. Neither won out, though, as all the angel did was shake his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Demon.” 

The ramblings of Jonah were growing more and more frantic. The man looked a little green to Crawley. Perhaps he was dehydrated.

“Officially,” Aziraphale said, which caused Crawley’s head to whip back towards him. “Officially, I’m only here to make sure that Jonah sends his warnings to the Ninevites. He got into a bit of a tiff with The Almighty, and…”

“You’re here on heavenly micromanagement?”

“If you want to phrase it that way, I suppose so.”

Crawley cackled. “What does Heaven classify as a ‘tiff’ then? I’m fascinated.”

Aziraphale flushed. “I wouldn’t call this usual, mind you. Jonah was...swallowed up. By a...fish.”

“Not possible.”

“With God, all things are—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

“Well, regardless, that’s what happened.”

“There’s not a fish large enough to swallow a human adult whole. More than that, even if there  _ was  _ a fish big enough to swallow him whole, there’s no way anything could survive a fish’s digestive system.”

“I wasn’t in charge of animal taxonomy, Crawley. All I know is I got a memo that said Jonah was swallowed by a fish and as repentance he’s supposed to spread the word of Nineveh's imminent demise to its denizens!”

Crawley noted the twitch in Aziraphale’s features, remembered the same tenseness he’d held in his posture when they talked about God flooding the earth. It was Crawley’s nature, dissent. Not just reaping it, but noticing it. Much easier to tempt someone into darkness if they’re already halfway to dousing the flame.

“Well,” Crawley gave a lazy nod of his head towards the still-spastic Jonah, who was  _ definitely  _ displaying signs of mania. “Looks like he’s got it covered, then.”

Aziraphale looked as though he simultaneously wanted to speak and keep his mouth tightly shut. “Would you…” After trailing off, the angel wrung his hands together. He was wearing a ring, Crawley hadn’t noticed it until just then. With the way Aziraphale’s hands fidgeted and twirled it, it was hard for Crowley to look away. “There’s another reason I’m here.”

Crowley snapped his head up, hopefully not too obviously, and grinned again. “A not strictly holy reason, eh?”

“Why do you make everything sound so...licentious? And don’t just say ‘demon’, that’s not an answer.”

It was the only answer Crowley had, though, so he said nothing and kept on grinning. 

“There’s a place I’d like to visit.” Aziraphale had rarely, in their two-thousand-year acquaintance, looked so hopeful. Save for a single moment on Eden’s eastern wall and one time when Crowley snooped on Aziraphale trying ashure for the first time in Anatolia, the angel had always had an air of rarely-repressed tension around Crowley. Crowley knew it was Heaven’s influence making Aziraphale act all stiff and odd. Crowley knew the depth of care and comfort Aziraphale could exhibit. Not that Crowley had ever been the recipient of said care or comfort, only ever been a nosebleed audience to it.

To be the beneficiary of Aziraphale’s smile at that moment was...well, Crowley wasn’t sure what, but it was definitely something.

“Oh?” Crowley asked, because it was the only word he could manage.

“Would you be interested in taking a break from your goat caper?”

Crowley laughed again. “D’you really think it was that easy? Ask me all nice to stop being naughty?”

“I rescind my invitation.”

“Angel,” Crawley whined, holding out the epithet to extraordinary lengths. Aziraphale wasn’t walking away in a huff, which was a positive sign. “Come on, angel. Sure, I can take a break.”

Aziraphale turned to face Crawley fully, looking as if he was gauging Crawley’s sincerity. Crawley might lie, might lie often, but at least he was honest about it when he did. Aziraphale smiled, all glow and heaven’s light. “There’s another reason I took this job, honestly. There’s a...library here.”

“A what now?”

When the angel grinned, and it caused an odd reaction in the region of Crawley’s stomach—flipping about and making him feel as if he’d be sick. Maybe he was the one who was dehydrated? No, not possible, demons didn’t experience it.

Crawley had barely shrugged in assent before Aziraphale was taking his hand and dragging him northward, through the Nineveh’s busy, crowded streets. The dirt beneath Crowley’s sandals was warm, seeping up through his legs and it settled, oddly, in the pit of his stomach. Crawley stared at Aziraphale’s uncovered head as they walked, curls shining in the mid-morning sun. The light seemed to bounce off the angel, but Crawley couldn’t tell if it was the white-wool tunic or Aziraphale’s general angelic nature. One of his shoulders was bare, and Crawley swore he could see freckles forming on the skin in real time.

Odd thing to notice.

Crawley paid attention to nothing else until he almost bumped into Aziraphale, who stopped in front of a large, looming building. “Big,” Crawley said, astutely.

“Yes,” Aziraphale replied, sounding breathless with excitement. “Have you ever been, Crawley?”

“Ehh,” Crawley extracted his hand from Aziraphale’s grasp, waving it dismissively. “Not really my scene, writings.”

“Oh, you’re missing out, my dear. Absolutely  _ fascinating  _ what humans have concocted. Gilgamesh alone is…”

Crawley let Aziraphale expound excitedly on as they walked inside. The place was sparsely populated, but the size of the building could have accounted for that. Along the open-air perimeter, insets were carved into the wall, housing what Crawley could only describe as large stone slabs. Where there wasn’t a window or an opening, there were carved and painted pictures of armies and gods and stories Crawley had heard tell of around fire pits throughout his time in Assyria. People of varying ages peered at the slabs in their hands or took them to tables in the center of the atrium. At one of the tables, a group of humans were arguing over each other as one of their number furiously carved into the stone.

“...and I’m  _ so _ excited to see the tablets in person!” Crawley noticed, belatedly, that Aziraphale had walked forward, toward one of the insets in the wall. “Look, see.” Aziraphale took one of the slabs—or, tablets, Crawley guessed they were called—down and showed it to Crawley. “They’ve developed a way to write down their language, use it to convey...anything!” Aziraphale looked at Crawley for approval. “Remarkable, isn’t it?”

“It’s a whole thing,” Crawley agreed adjacently, looking at Aziraphale rather than the tablet proffered to him.

“And they’re teaching children to write now! I was so afraid that the humans would hoard this knowledge for the upper echelons of society, but these folks seem very interested in educating the masses.” After reshelving the tablet in its rightful spot, Aziraphale turned in a circle. He admired the spacious building with the same adoration reserved for wine and bread. “It’s becoming so  _ personal, _ writing. Stories, histories. Some even write down their day-to-day goings-on.”

“Little dangerous, innit?” Crawley put on his most lecherous smile. “Educate the masses, they start getting their own ideas, they start turning away from  _ The Light _ .” Crawley said the last two words with a tease of harmonious lilt, jesting at his remembrance of heaven.

“You are incorrigible.”

“Angel, this city doesn’t even worship your deity.” He gestured to the wall carving closest to them, which depicted an animal sacrifice. “S’all Nabu and Ea with this lot, no sign of Her here. And if they’re not worshipping falsies, then they’re idolizing war and violence and might of power. You going to try and convince me those are  _ holy  _ qualities?”

Aziraphale lifted his eyes to meet Crawley’s. Crawley’s heart  _ lurched  _ at the simple motion, but he couldn’t figure out why. The angel was just looking at him, but it felt...it felt. Crawley slowly lowered his gesturing hand, and Aziraphale grabbed it before he could drop it completely. “They’re  _ creating _ , Crawley. Thinking of new ideas every day, writing down their daily banalities, recording their histories. It’s human creation. What could be more heavenly than that?”

They parted soon after that, because Crawley really  _ did  _ need to get on with his goat plan before his superiors started breathing down his neck about getting things done in a timely manner. Crawley couldn’t shake the heat of Aziraphale’s palm from his hand, the temperature memory stubbornly lingering on his skin and in his mind.

And later, when Crawley still couldn’t get rid of the sensation, he devised a plan. A plan that Aziraphale had  _ definitely  _ not inspired in the slightest. After stealing into Nineveh’s library and nabbing an empty clay tablet and a stylus, he sat in the beneath the moon and in the light of a fire pit. The memory of the interaction with Aziraphale, his excitement, his irritation, his hair and his face and his hands and— 

There had to be a way to  _ not  _ obsess over the angel.

So, Crawley put stylus to tablet, and began to write.

> _ Month of Adar _
> 
> _ Saw the angel today, watching over Jonah. Took me to Nineveh’s library, held my hand the whole way there. Library was nice. Whole sea of tablets, all sorts of writing on them. Carvings on the wall, too. The angel was fascinated, because of course he was. Tried to lecture me on the inherent holiness of creativity. Ridiculous. The angel’s hair looked really nice today... _

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at writingelizabeth <3


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